heat
by Khayr
Summary: It was too much for him; he couldn't breathe and he was on /fire/. It felt like there was gasoline in his veins and Anderson was doing a damn good job of striking the match. [nsfw]


It was a shame that it had taken her almost getting killed for him to realize what she meant to him.

He was outside of her apartment now, knocking at her door with a glowering (albeit slightly hurt) expression on his face. His free time that week at been spent at the medical ward right at her side, and today he arrived to be told she had been released that morning. Something was bothering him like an itch he couldn't scratch, but he'd be damned if he was going to let it get the best of him. A rift had been torn in him when he had been dragging her body out of the housing block they had raided. He had been scared, no, _terrified_ of the prospect of the familiar psychic suddenly absent from his life. This was exactly why he didn't allow anyone to get close to him… and he had gotten sloppy.

The door slid open with a quiet click, and Anderson stood in the doorway in an oversized t-shirt and shorts with a exhausted expression on her face. The shadows under her eyes looked deeper than usual, and there was a sort of fragile aura around her for what must have been the first time since he had met her. She seemed to brighten when she realized who it was, and stepped aside to allow him to enter.

"I was going to send you a message," she started, padding back across the room to where she had been curled on her tiny couch, "But I fell asleep as soon as I got back." Her sheepish expression served as an apology, and Dredd let out a soft _hmm_ in response. He loomed over her for a moment, words suddenly all but gone in his throat. His hands made for his helmet instead, pulling it off his head and dropping it on her coffee table with a deliberate _thunk_. Anderson seemed a hundred times smaller than he remembered, and after going back and forth with himself he finally sunk down on the couch beside her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute or so, before that itch came back to Dredd in full force. Why had he come here? He could have shot her a message to confirm she had made it home alright, and yet he had felt this insatiable need to see for himself. His fingers ran through his hair distractedly, and as his eyes glanced to her beside him he suddenly became acutely aware of what had pulled him here to her. She was staring back at him with a strange intensity that was totally foreign to him, although the heat that was building ever so slowly in the pit of his chest was not. She slowly bit at the edge of her lip.

Something in him snapped.

As if she had been prying at his mind Anderson reached for him the moment he lunged towards her, fingers twisting into his hair and down his neck with sheer need. Her mouth was hot against his, and he pulled her close into his lap with a desperation that was absolutely alien to him. His hands wandered down her back, a soft sigh escaping from her lips at his touch. She felt strangely vulnerable in his arms, and yet she held her place as if she absolutely belonged there (she knew she did).

She pulled back from him, inhaling a soft breath of air before she went at his neck, finding the point where his pulse was hammering away. He growled, the sound low in his throat. She was bold, he'd give her that; her tongue ran along his jawline before she reclaimed his mouth, hands working at his flak vest. The tiny voice of his conscience said _don't do this_, but he crushed it under the heat that had consumed him.

She pulled away from him to slide his jacket off his shoulders, and Dredd leaned in closer to press a string of kisses against the skin of her neck. Anderson let out a soft noise as he worked, face crinkling at the scrape of his stubble. Her body was coiled like a spring and her eyes smouldered like embers as they raked over him. She was intent on getting him out of his clothes, so as she tugged his shirt over his head and set after his belt he did his best to distract her. His hands wandered to the hem of her t-shirt, fingers tracing along her hips.

It was too much for him; he couldn't breathe and he was on _fire_. It felt like there was gasoline in his veins and Anderson was doing a damn good job of striking the match. The next few movements passed in a blur, pulse pounding in his head; soon the heat flared again as her bare skin hit his- when had he gotten her shirt off? He felt a million miles away, hands trailing over the bandages along her body and the soft skin inbetween. She leaned in close to him and purred his name softly against his ear, encouraging what she knew had been a long time coming. Of course she would have sensed his growing attraction to her.

She knew what she did to him.

Just like that he had her in his arms, halfway to her bedroom before he had even sorted the thought out in his head. Her hands were in his hair, on his chest, on every inch of skin they could reach, and as he lay her back against the mattress they drifted to the ridges of muscle along his abdomen and then set after his belt. She ground her hips against his and a low groan came unbidden from his throat. She was doing this on purpose, and she flashed a coy expression to confirm that.

He was unhinged, control out the window and his usual anger smothered in what he was finally recognizing as lust. Anderson seemed to be more in tune to his whims than he was and she was pushing him to the edge of his wits, writhing underneath him as he nibbled at her collarbone. She tugged at the waist of his pants with a soft growl of her own, reminding him what _she_ wanted (it was him). They could take their time later when she wasn't filled with a frustrating need that threatened to overwhelm her. He obeyed, although not without a half-serious frown at her insistence, sliding them past his hips and off with little difficulty. Her shorts followed soon after and Dredd settled against her with a forearm on either side of her head. If she focused hard enough Anderson was positive she could hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

She let her fingers trail down his side, relishing the shiver it elicited from him. Her eyes were watching his, dark with a sort of hunger that had Dredd wondering how long she'd been eyeing him (and how long he had let it go unnoticed). He didn't get the chance to ponder any further as she took that moment to press her palm against his length, snapping his focus back to her and an unchecked groan sounding from somewhere deep in his throat. He leaned into her touch with a shudder and moved back in to claim her mouth, stifled moans escaping despite his best efforts as she stroked him hard.

He gasped against her lips, one hand grabbing hers to still her movement. His body was wound too tight, too hot, and she was playing all the right cards. He couldn't even remember the last time he burned like this (for anyone). She seemed to catch the meaning behind his movement and released him to slide her fingers across stomach and around to the small of his back, tracing corded muscle and thin scars. Anderson writhed against him, looping one leg around the back of his thigh and jerking him closer. She let out a noise like a half purr and he took the hint, running his hand over her hip and down between her thighs. A low growl came from his chest as she bucked against him with a hiss of pleasure, grinding back into him and slick with need. Even now he was infuriating her; she _needed_ him and he was taking his sweet time-

Dredd grunted suddenly, held one hand against her hip and pushed inside her. It drew a groan from both of them and he bowed his forehead into hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and her skin and her and her and god he couldn't remember the last time someone could do this to him (it was actually never). Each thrust pulled him further until he was buried to the hilt, sheathed in scorching heat and quickly losing the control that his conscience had tried to cling onto. She had her nails in his skin and back arched up into him, face in his shoulder and breath coming in short pants.

He stifled a low moan, mouth closing against her neck, her jaw, anything he could reach until he caught her lips again. She threaded her fingers up into his hair and lost herself in his kiss, a soft whine humming in her throat as she bucked back against him. His breathing grew ragged now, rhythm erratic, and when finally her muscles spasmed around him and she cried out, he lost it and rode over the edge of his release with a groan that sounded suspiciously like her name.

Muscles relaxing, Dredd slumped down against her, panting into her hair. Anderson's fingers trailed down his shoulders and across his back, her mind sensing the fire that had burned in him begin to calm. He twisted himself down alongside her and pulled her tight into his chest, skin damp with sweat. She didn't seem to mind. The heat that he had seen in her face was gone for the moment, her expression serene. His mind was already scolding him; _that was wrong and you know it_. Was it? It had felt so… _right_. He needed her more than he was willing to admit. His chest ached at the thought and he pressed his lips against the top of her head.

"Don't ever get shot like that again," he rumbled, and he could have sworn her body shook with laughter.


End file.
